


Why Can't I?

by RockSaltandCherryPie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Pining!Sam, Voyeur Sam, Voyeurism, Weecest, impala!sex, just sam's imagination, not actual weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltandCherryPie/pseuds/RockSaltandCherryPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Weecest - Pining!Sam</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Can't I?

Most nights go like this. Sam lies awake in the bed adjacent to Dean's, wondering what his older brother's thinking about. He should probably just ask him, but the truth is, Sam isn't sure he wants to hear the response. The topic of choice whenever they're alone together tends to drift towards the same thing lately. Girls.

It wasn't that Sam was surprised at how much female attention Dean got; he was an eighteen year old red-blooded american boy, who, by the way, spent a little too much time barhopping. But the conversation went dry every time Dean brought up how—what was the word he used last week?— _succulent_ these girls were. And Sam hated that he couldn't participate in whatever  excitement had Dean's blood pumping just a little bit hotter that day. He wasn't particularly "experienced" with women, being only fourteen and all, and truth be told the only thing that pumped him up was the weekly ritual of listening to Dean's words when he talked about his sexual experiences — sweet as honey, as vivid as pornography. Better, even. Because it was Dean's voice, liquid-smooth as it crept down Sam's neck, warm and fuzzy as it trickled down his spine. It was something so deliciously _dangerous_ and Sam hated that he could never quite tell Dean to shut the hell up. Instead, he'd listen as Dean spoke sickly-sweet, watch as Dean's fingers curled around the steering wheel, feel the sweat gather along the line of his throat and have trouble swallowing over it.

Dean didn't know what he did to Sam. How often Sam went to bed wishing he could speak up, could just tell Dean to quit talking about chicks and pay attention to _him._ He wanted to be the one in the stories, the one Dean praised, the one whose body made him melt and fall apart. But he wasn't a beautiful woman. He was just this gangly, floppy-haired kid who also, by the way, happened to be his _brother._ Sam knew how messed up it was. But he needed Dean. He _wanted_ Dean. And most of all, he wanted Dean to want him.

So, most nights he wondered what Dean was thinking about. However, tonight was not most nights. Dean was gone.

The girls never meant anything. At least, that's what Dean always told Sam. _Can't afford to be tied down, Sammy._ That's what he said.

So the girl of the week was Penny, a pretty fair-haired waitress who slipped Dean her number as they were paying the bill at Adley's Grill & Deli. She had bright blue eyes and wore a cherry-colored lip gloss. Dean decided to see her the very next day. He always took advantage whenever Dad was gone and stayed out longer than usual with people he just met.

He said he'd only be gone a couple hours, but the house had been empty—aside from Sam watching crappy television, eating a bowl of cereal for dinner and pacing the bedroom—for the whole friggin night.

At midnight he shuts the lights out and flops on the bed in a huff. His toes bounce anxiously in place. It wasn't fair. He could probably be good for Dean. Might not wear cherry flavored lip gloss or have succulent breasts or anything but he knows he could give Dean what he wanted. And the best part was, he would always be there. Wasn't just another one night stand.

Yeah, Dean wouldn't want anybody else. Sam's thoughts always landed on the same things when he touched himself — Dean in bed. Dean jacking off. Dean jacking _him_ off. Dean's hands, firm and rough, being gentle with him, tender. Being different with Sam than he was with women. Touching his body, admiring it. His palm laid flat on Sam's stomach, pressing down, down... gripping him easily with a capable hand, stroking him just the right way. Sam's hand was never enough. It had to be Dean's. Dean over him, on top of him, nose pushing in his hair, behind his ear. The scent of Dean, vintage leather, dark bourbon and sage. His neck tasting like it.

A car pulls up in the driveway. Instantly, Sam pulls his hand from his shorts and kneels on the bed. His bed is against the window, looking down on the driveway. He doesn't pull the blinds up, but from the way they're slanted open he can just make out the impala and its passengers. Dean is still with Penny. They're fumbling around in the front seat. He just catches a glimpse here and there of bare skin, an thigh, a knee. And then Dean's back. And from there it all becomes pretty evident. She helps him get his shirt off. Dean slides her jeans off around her ankles and then opens the front of his own. Sam snakes his hand back down on himself.

She holds his back. He supports her thighs as she wraps them around him.

Sam's eyes begin to water. She's in his spot. The passenger side has always belonged to him. It makes him sick to see Dean so frivolously fucking this woman in the car they ride around in all day long. His seat would probably smell like her perfume tomorrow.

Dean could have him. If it was a warm, willing body he wanted he could have Sam. No strings attached. Like Dean always said. Sam just wants to feel him, to cling to him the way this stranger was, to have Dean all to himself.

His fingers shake with the need of it as he strokes down his length, pretending he's in the car underneath Dean. Dean feeling his hips, stripping him bare. And Sam would feel the leather underneath his naked skin, gunshot residue sticking to his sweat, the humidity of Dean's body hovering in the air. Sam's thigh coming up, pushing against him, waiting for it. Dean taking his time because he was always gentle with Sam. From a fever to an injury, he was always gentle. Sam knew it would be the same way with sex. Dean sliding inside him, filling him up. Sam taking him so good.

Sam's on the edge as he watches the car quake. Dean's back keeps a steady rhythm, the curve of it arching as he kisses the girl. Dean's lips on Sam's, warm, wet and smooth, claiming his mouth as his tongue slides easily inside.

Dean picks up speed and the car bumps around, Sam starts to leak through his fingers. Dean's pulsing body falters, his body shakes and he collapses. What would it feel like, to have Dean come inside him? It would be warm, slippery-soft and — and — Sam jerks the head of his dick quickly, violently, until he's spilling out, dripping all over the bedspread. Dean's still holding her, he gives a few more faltering pushes with his hips before he rests, heaving repeatedly. Sam rocks through the aftershocks of his orgasm and hits the wall with his shoulder, blinds rattling around. He falls back on the bed, trying to catch his breath.

By the time Dean comes upstairs Sam is still sticky in his shorts. He barely had time to clean up or get his bearings. It's dark in the room but Dean's figure is visible, leather jacket slung over a shoulder, button-down henley hanging open. He flops down on the edge of the bed and takes his shoes off one by one.

Sam's head follows him.

Dean looks up. "You still up?" His voice is coarse. It's barely a grunt. It sends shivers down Sam's spine.

Sam practically whines. "Mhm."

Dean comes over, leaving his coat behind and hovers over Sam. "What's wrong?"

Sam wants to scream, yell, cry, kiss him, do a whole bunch of crap but he just shrugs. "I don't know."

Dean's palm comes forward and touches his skin, pushes back the sticky hair on his forehead and rests there for a second. It's hot and it's exactly the contact he was craving that he actually _whimpers_ when he feels it, just a little sound deep in his throat that spills out impulsively.

"You're burning up. You sick?" He smells like sex and gasoline.

Sam takes in a breath when he removes his hand. His heart quivers deep in his chest. "Yeah. I think so."

Dean sits back, kicks his legs up on the bed and settles in. "'Get you some medicine in the morning. Try to get some sleep."

Sam sighs.

He knows the kind of sick he is can't be cured by any medicine.


End file.
